


Be the Other Guy

by Sylph_of_the_hopeless



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cutting, Homestuck AU, Self Harm, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:44:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylph_of_the_hopeless/pseuds/Sylph_of_the_hopeless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>17 year old Dave Strider comes home to his brother sitting on his bed with Dave's razor, pin and scissors in his hand. After a very long talk he begins to attend a support group and is strangely captivated by a dark haired boy with buck teeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be the Other Guy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress and I'm trying to work out my writing style, so I'm sorry for any badly written spots ^^;

His name was Dave Strider. Nobody knew about the scars Dave had. If anybody saw some, he would just tell them that it was from strifing with Bro and he had gotten a lucky swipe in. After the age of 14 he switched to cutting his legs. Arms were too risqué. In 8th grade his math teacher saw some scars on his arms and sent him to the guidance office. He got some heat, a little pamphlet about depression, but once summer hit, nobody cared anymore. By junior year his thighs were so scarred there was barely an inch of clean skin. No one knew what was going on in his head, not even him. No one cared and so Dave didn’t care. Or at least he thought so.

It was in the middle of April when he came home and Bro was sitting on Daves bed, holding his razor, pin and scissors. He looked so small, head down, shoulders slumped over and his glasses were forgotten beside him. You contemplate leaving, running away from him, from the things that were to come, but you can’t. You stand there, in the doorway waiting for him to say something. Thirty seconds passes, then a minute, then five.

“Bro?” you say quietly. He lifts his head and you see his eyes. Their puffy from crying and so much confusion fills them. You’re in his arms as he flies across the room engulfing you in a tight embrace. It’s hard for you to breathe and you hear him whisper ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I’m sorry’ over and over again. Dave didn’t do anything at first, but as each sorry passed his brothers lips a pit of emotion opened up inside of him and as each shudder passed through his brothers body he gripped him tighter. Soon he was saying sorry back, tears falling down his face. They clung to one another; the only thing keeping them up was the other.

Your name is too cool to say, but for right now, you’re too busy clinging to your little brother in a very uncool way. You don’t care. You don’t care about anything beside him in this moment. You sob out apologies to him and he cries into your shoulder. You think maybe if you were a better parent, a better friend this wouldn’t have happened. You think maybe if you paid more attention to him he wouldn’t have had to do this. You think many things, but the only thing that comes out is ‘I’m sorry.’ Eventually you both calm down and separate, but you keep your hands on his shoulders.

“When did… I didn’t know… Why…” You don’t know where to start, you don’t know how to deal with these things, you’re barely over 30 for god’s sake! You tremble slightly as you wait for him to say something. He clears his throat and looks down.

“Can we go in the living room? I kinda want to sit down for this.” He asks. You nod your head and walk into the living room. He takes a detour into the kitchen to grab a glass of apple juice and a can of mountain dew for you. You sit in silence until he is ready.

“Our life has always been pretty fucked up bro. you know that. I don’t remember our parents at all, and I think everything just built on top of that.” You nod. Your parents left you with Dave when you were 16 and have never come back, never written, never called.

“I don’t even know them and I miss them. Did you know I used to cry myself to sleep when I thought of them? I still do sometimes. I know, I knew that crying over them wasn’t going to do anything, hell I wasn’t even crying over them half the time, I was crying over the idea of them.” He took a swig of his apple juice before continuing.

“God I just… you were so good to me Bro, I just…“ he stopped. You could see him struggling to come up with what to say, how to sort everything out.

“The first time I cut was in 7th grade. Preteen hormones running through my veins and thinking the world owed me everything convinced me that it was a good idea…” he talked late into the night, spilling everything like it was killing him to hold it in. It pained Bro to hear this, to know that his little brother was going through so much pain without him even knowing. Dave sleepily blinked as the rays of the sun peeked into the room. He dozed off mid-sentence, slumping over onto Bro. He knew there was so much more to be said, but for today, he would let it be. He lifted Dave up and carried him to his bed, tucking him in tightly and grabbing his discarded glasses. The pictures of what Dave described to him collected in his head as he went to his own room. He fell heavily on his bed, not bothering to change and let it wash over him. All of the images, all of the times Dave cut flowed in and out of his brain, tormenting him. He didn’t get any sleep.

You are now Dave Strider. It has been a week since your Bro found your stash. You are currently sitting in a support group for troubled teens. There are five others in the room not counting the counselor and you. You try to play it cool, acting like you don’t care, but there’s this one boy who catches your attention. His name is John… something, and you’re not even sure why he’s here. You catch his eye once and he quickly looks away, a slight blush tinting his cheeks from embarrassment. Your thoughts and eyes are pulled back to the counselor when he starts to speak again. You haven’t told your story yet, and if it was up to you, you won’t tell it. You’re completely fine with telling Bro, because he’s family, but complete strangers… no. No fuck that, you’ll just sit here, listening to the others sob stories and act like the cool kid you are. The counselor asks you if you would like to join in, but after you just sit and stare at him for a solid 60 seconds, he shifts his attention to one of the other members. The rest of the meeting goes by uneventfully.

Another week goes past and you tell Bro more. He listens patiently to everything you have to say. But when you get to a certain point you can see his face pale.

“Sometimes, I would get to this place in my depression, I would love it there, everything seemed so beautiful. I would call it my happy place. I know that doesn’t really make any sense, as I was in the middle of a depression spell, but, everything slowed down. Everything was nice because it was like I was high or something, I didn’t have to think about anything and I would smile, thinking yes, finally I could die and still be happy, if I did it now I would be happy when I died. I found myself cutting to try to reach that place. I would cut deeper and longer until I finally reached it, and I would smile. I would put the razor down slowly and watch as my blood poured out of my veins. Nothing mattered to me in that stage. It sucked coming down from it though, because I would just feel all this self-hate, and think I should just kill myself and get it over with. Once I almost did.” Dave sat silently for a few minutes and then stood up and with a big breath pulled his pants down. He was left in his boxers and scars.

“This one,” he pointed to a long thin scar on his left thigh. “is where I first did it. I didn’t like it at first, but then something inside of me demanded I do it again and this one,” this time it was a short thin one on his right thigh by his knee “is when it started to feel good.” He went on, pointing at each scar separately. It took almost an hour before he was finished, but when he finally was, he felt so much better.

Your name is Dirk Strider and you can’t believe your little brother was able to hide this from you for so long. After each day you would go to sleep with the stories Dave told you haunting your mind. You are able to go to work and function normally, but it seems like the weight that was on Dave is now on you. You just bear with it though, for the sake of your brother. You are strong and you can handle this. The worst is behind you, yes. The worst will always be behind you now.


End file.
